Growing Pains
by RinaCath
Summary: Prussia's journal entries surrounding the rise of a new nation - and the fall of another.


**WHAT'S THAT? 'STOP POSTING NEW STORIES, WHORE'? NEVER. NEVER. Also it's currently like 1:30 in the morning right now so I'm not completely sure if I should be posting this crap...**

***ahem* I found this buried on my laptop. It's not finished, but I do intend to finish it. You know, eventually. In the meantime, I realized how long it was getting and decided to stop hoarding it.**

**I've been wanting to try a real entry-by-entry diary/journal type story since I finished The Last Journal, so I dragged out the Wikipedia tabs again and set to work filling my head with more information on the German Empire than anyone outside of Germany really needs to know. I'm pretty sure even Germans are like 'Dude, enough. You did it. Calm down.'.**

**Germans say dude. I'm sure of it.**

**No footnotes this time. I'M SORRY. They take so much energy. Anyway, there's a lot of artistic liberties, and, as always, I must remind you that my stories are not substitutes for textbooks. I lined this story up with history, but it's not a story about history. So there's a lot of gaps, important historical events not mentioned, and interpretations. So you don't need to be like 'OH, OH, YOU DIDN'T MENTION THE-'. Because chances are I know I didn't mention it. I had no use for it.**

**There's just too much to put in a linear story, especially since history isn't the main plotline. So don't focus too much on the history. Focus on the adorableness that is Brother!Prussia. Seriously, am I the only one that finds Brother!Prussia and Little!Germany to be the cutest thing ever invented? GOD IT'S SO CUTE IT GIVES ME DIABETUS.**

**Some of the dates have meaning, but most of them are just random dates. UHHHR DATES. THEY'RE PRACTICALLY MATH.**

**Also, terrible allusive foreshadowing is **_**terrible**_**. But I couldn't help it. I...You'll see it when you get there. You'll be like 'omg she didn't actually just say that.'.**

**I...couldn't...help myself.**

**OH BY THE WAY LANGUAGE WARNING mostly for the bottom AN because I have a much worse mouth than Prussia. If you're sensitive to that stuff you're probably shitfucked.**

* * *

><p><em>June 8, 1815<em>

I'm still not sure how Austria managed to get his greedy little claws into another nation-state. He's just got a thing with emperors, I guess. Something stupid.

I give this German Confederation thing a decade, at most. There's no way I can handle listening to Austria tell me what to do that long.

But…there's something else weird. Holy Rome died a few years ago, I know that, but… There's this kid. He was at the Congress of Versailles, and…I swear he looks just like him. I have no idea who he is. I asked him his name and he just said it was "Land of the Germans".

Right. Like I said, the kid was weird, and I'm glad Austria took him with him. I kind of hope I never see him again.

* * *

><p><em>January 23, 1866<em>

I can't believe this fucking Confederation is still here. I'm so close to just knocking Austria's stupid glasses off. Come to think of it, why haven't I yet?

I talked to him last month. We…passed ways around Christmas. He had that little kid with him. I asked about him, and he just shrugged and said he reminded him of me. If I were a creepy little kid, maybe. What the hell kind of impression of me does he have? No wonder we don't get along.

Although, maybe he's right. Behind Austria's back, the kid talked to me. He said he wants to be a country, a real country, not this joke Austria has going on with the 'German Confederation of Failures' or whatever he's calling it.

Weird kid, but he's got heart. He still insists his name is "Land of the Germans". Even Austria's been calling him that.

Right. I asked him if he had a first name he'd been using, and he shook his head. He doesn't talk much if he can help it. Shy, I guess. Or stupid. One of those. I told him the first step to being a country was having a damn name. I threw out a few and he just sort of stood there, like he was thinking about it. Finally, one caught his attention and he nodded again, repeating it in the faint southern accent he'd been picking up from Austria. I was annoyed about that, because I can tell he's a northern state, even if I still don't know quite where.

Oh well. At least now I've got something to call him. I spent forever teaching him to say Ludwig without an Austrian accent. I think I finally got it. I hope.

Austria's been talking about this idea to just unite all the German lands and everything else under his empire, and call it _Großdeutsche Lösung_. Great Germany. Right. That's happening.

I told him maybe it would be better if I just took most of the German-speaking territories that weren't him and made my own little 'Confederation'.

He didn't like that idea much.

* * *

><p><em>April 16, 1866<em>

Told you that German Confederation shit wouldn't last long. So maybe I put up with it for longer than I said… I guess I'm just a nice guy, huh?

Whatever. Signed the constitution today. Ludwig came with me pretty fast. I dangled a little bit of power in front of him and he practically bowled me over. For a quiet kid, he's really eager when he sees something he wants.

Scrawny though. Maybe this new Confederation will get some damn meat on his bones. I swear, one of my rings could fit him like a bracelet. How old is he, physically? I don't think he's older than three. I can't tell. He certainly doesn't know. He just sort of stares at me when I ask.

Come to think of it, he does that a lot.

But the North German Confederation isn't going to be the failure the first was. Nope. Because I'm not a piano-loving aristocratic dress-wearing dick.

I think Austria's figured out he can't keep denying me what I want. I'm bigger than him now. And I'm smarter. Well I've always been smarter, but now I've got a big-ass army and Ludwig, so he has to pay attention to the fact that I'm smarter.

* * *

><p><em>May 29, 1867<em>

Hungary and Austria got married.

Go figure.

* * *

><p><em>June 11, 1869<em>

It's kind of cute that Ludwig looks up to me. He's a bit older now, maybe four-ish, but he's still pretty damn scrawny. Maybe he'll bulk out later. Or something. Puberty.

But…I'm starting to see what Austria meant. He…does act like me. Not really, 'like' like me, but…it's there. It's something you can't really put your finger on. He even kind of looks like me. Same eyes, except his are blue. Same nose. Same chin, at least, it would have been if I were his age. Obviously mine's much manlier now.

People think we're brothers. I've stopped correcting them. I'm starting to think they're right. Ludwig doesn't correct them at all. Actually, he's been calling me Brother for a few years now.

Yeah. Brother. It sounds pretty nice. I gotta say (And I will never show this to anyone. Ever.), but… Well I've been kinda lonely all these years. It always seemed like everyone made alliances that stuck and I've just…sort of been alone. And…now I'm not alone.

But whatever. And stuff.

* * *

><p><em>February 25, 1870<em>

Ludwig said he loved me.

I said it back.

* * *

><p><em>March 14, 1870<em>

Ludwig likes to listen to stories. I keep telling him stuff from my Teutonic days, but I'm starting to repeat myself. I can't believe I ran out of stories from then. He must have been asking me every day for years. I thought there were more than I could count.

Turns out Ludwig counted them. Four hundred and sixty-three. Damn, that kid is smart.

He was having bad nightmares, I think it was about France, I can't remember that well. Understandable. I have nightmares about him too. I let him come sit in my room and he was looking at all the things I have on my walls. Hasn't he been in here before? Now I can't remember.

He saw a painting of Fritz and asked who he was. I started telling him and all the sudden I couldn't keep going. It was like my throat just sealed over. He asked if I had nightmares too and I told him they were a different kind of nightmare.

He slept in my bed. I can't help but feel like he did it to make me feel better.

* * *

><p><em>March 16, 1870<em>

I just remembered. He's never met France.

* * *

><p><em>March 30, 1870<em>

Ludwig watched me training with a few knights today. I was getting rusty. He cheered me on and booed whenever the others got a shot in at me.

I really love that kid.

He asked me to help him be strong too and I laughed and told him he'd have to grow up a little first. He said he wanted to be strong _now_, so I found a toy wooden sword and set him to work hacking at one of the sandbags we have sitting around.

Kid's terrible with a sword. I know he's young, but you can tell these sorts of things at this age. He doesn't have any potential at all. I just hope like hell he's better with a rifle, or he's going to be a pain to defend when he's older.

I guess I don't care. I'd go to war for him. I really would.

He spent the rest of the day hitting people's shins with his new toy. They all cursed me for giving it to him, but I couldn't bear to take it away. He would coming running to me every now and then and tell me about his victories against the terrible grown-up people. I'm starting to think he doesn't see me as a grown-up. I wonder why? He always calls Austria a grown-up. Somehow, I'm not annoyed. If I'm part of a group that doesn't have Austria in it, I'm fine with that.

I spent the whole day expecting to feel something banging on my shins. I must've run into three people looking down for the little menace, but he never came after me. I guess I'm not his enemy.

* * *

><p><em>April 9, 1870<em>

How long has Ludwig lived with me? It feels like forever. I keep looking through this journal, and I realize how much more I've been writing in it since he came along. Has it really only been four years?

I'm so…proud of him. I don't even know why. It seems like all he has to do is smile and I think he's the greatest kid in the world. Is this what being a parent feels like?

But I'm not a parent. I'm a big brother. I wouldn't trade that job for anything in the world. I'd even go back to Austria and let him be my emperor for the rest of time, if it meant I could still see Ludwig look up at me like I'm the greatest person in the world.

He's such a good kid. He never whines or throws a fit or complains. He listens to everything I say. He does what I tell him. He's so…happy to do what I tell him. He's almost like a dog, like all he really wants is to make me happy.

I love him. I love him so damn much.

I'd die for him. I mean that.

* * *

><p><em>April 21, 1870<em>

Ludwig keeps having nightmares.

He can't sleep in his own bed anymore. He always runs to mine, and if my door is locked he'll cry until I wake up and let him in. I don't know what it is. He's not a coward. I've seen him calm around things that would unnerve a grown man. He's had nightmares before, he would try my door or just tell me in the morning.

But suddenly he's crying even when he's with me in bed, with the lamps on. He's so scared. It breaks my heart to see him like that.

The worst part is he won't tell me what they're about. I ask him and he just shakes his head and clings to me.

I'm worried about him.

* * *

><p><em>April 26, 1870<em>

I got him to talk about the nightmares.

He said they're all about me. He said he keeps seeing me, and I'm hurt. Or he can't find me. Or sometimes I'm mean. I run after him and he's so scared, because he doesn't know who to cry for.

It hurts so much that it's me he's scared of. I know it's not him. Once he wakes up, the nightmares go away and he needs me, but as soon as he's asleep I'm the one haunting his nightmares.

What is this? Why me? He's loved me for years, that's all he says. That he loves me so much. He's never said that to anyone else.

I don't know how to make him feel better. I let him fall asleep in my bed at night, so he doesn't have to come find me. Maybe it'll help. The nurses say it's not good to let him sleep with me so much, because he'll get used to it, but how could I possibly say no?

I need to make him feel better. This is the only way I know how.

* * *

><p><em>May 13, 1870<em>

Ludwig looks so tired. He hasn't slept much lately. He's afraid to fall asleep. I promise him that I'll be right there, that he doesn't have be afraid, but he just says he can't see it again. He doesn't want to see it again.

He never really says what 'it' is.

I've started figuring some things out. He won't talk about it, but he's tired, and he's starting to let more things slip.

I'm not just hurt. I'm dead. I'm always dead. Sometimes it's different, I've been shot, or stabbed, sometimes decapitated, but usually it's something small. But there's always that one little detail, something he's started telling me lately. My heart is always missing. There's a gaping hole in my chest, and I have to wonder what that looks like in a three-year-old's dream.

I ask him where my heart is, and he always shakes his head. But last night he told me.

It's in his hand.

He's having nightmares that he kills me. That's what this is about. That's why he's so scared, why he needs to come find me. Because he's afraid they're true. Why he won't fall asleep, because he thinks something will happen and he really will hurt me. I'm hurt, I'm dead, I'm furious with him because he's been trying to kill me in his dreams.

I think I get it. Ludwig's really young, and, even though I've been trying not to think about it…he's a country. A nation. Just like me. And…he thinks what they think. His people.

He's too young to feel everything they do. I remember that. It gets patchy in the beginning, like you haven't quite made the connection yet. But when he's asleep, it comes through.

His people want me dead.

* * *

><p><em>September 14, 1870<em>

King Wilhelm needs me on the fronts. I'm to leave for Paris tomorrow

I had to tell Ludwig. He cried. He never cries. That hurt.

I told him I would be back and he sobbed that I might get hurt or killed and what would he do then? I don't know how to answer him sometimes. He's a little kid, with little kid's logic, but he's so reasonable. His fears are reasonable. A normal little kid would be scared someone wouldn't come home. He listed off about two dozen ways I could be killed or maimed and I finally stopped him and told him I'd been doing this for years and years and years. He still looked scared. He wanted to come.

I told him no. Of course I did! He's a little kid! I can't risk that. I can't even think about him being in a war. No. That won't happen.

He's a nation, it'll happen one day. But… That hurts think about. And it's a long way away.

I hope his nightmares stop while I'm away. I told the nurses to let him sleep in my bed if he wants. I hope that helps.

I'll come home in one piece for him. I'd die for him, now I have to live for him. I can't take risks this time around. I have to come back healthy and victorious. I have to.

I have to.

I love him. I love him more than I could ever love anyone. More than Fritz. So much more than Fritz. And I thought no one would ever even come close to him.

I feel like Ludwig has healed all the broken bits to me. I'm so old…and he's so little. He reminds me that life is worth living. Every time I look at him I see all the reasons I love being alive and…God I love that kid.

* * *

><p><em>January 18, 1870<em>

Today, I am an empire.

No, we are an Empire. Me and Ludwig. Together.

I wish I could write more but Wilhelm already yelled at me for not resti

* * *

><p><em>January 28, 1871<em>

Thank god this battle is done. France really thought he stood a chance. That's cute. But now I'm an empire and what is he?

I wrote to Ludwig. Told him we won and now I'm coming home. There's still some stuff to do around here, but Wilhelm is sending me home. I'm fine with that. I want to see Ludwig.

I hope he gets the letter soon. He can't read yet, but the nurses will tell him. I hope they leave out the part about me getting shot in the kidney.

He'll find out soon enough, I guess.

* * *

><p><em>February 1, 1871<em>

Ludwig's mad at me.

I promised him I wouldn't get hurt and I did. He was furious. I've never seen him so angry. I smiled and tried to apologize but he would hear anything of it.

He's stubborn. Like his big brother.

I finally told him I missed him and he gave up on being angry and hugged me for a long time, saying he missed me so much and I wasn't allowed to go away again. I told him I'd try hard, for him, but I can't make him any promises. I know, one day, I'll have to leave again. And I just pray he isn't with me.

My stomach hurts, but I'll heal fine. France got a lucky shot in. I'll live. Ludwig asked me if it was from my country, and I had to wonder at him for a while. How much does he know, about what we are? He's seen his playmates (though he has very few of them) outgrow him, does he know why? Does he ever feel an ache he can't explain? A hurt he doesn't understand?

I told him no. Sometimes I get shot, just like everyone else. And I have to sit in bed and be good or I'm going to get in trouble with Wilhelm, who is furious with me right now. Like I _tried_ to get shot or something. I guess he's just worried. But it's alright, I'll heal. I always do.

Ludwig's been sleeping with me since I got back. I noticed his nightmares stopped.

Maybe tomorrow I'll tell him about our Empire.

* * *

><p><em>February 2, 1871<em>

Ludwig is excited about our Empire. He said it'll be the biggest and best and no one will ever be mean to us. I laughed, even though it kind of hurts to laugh, but he's worth it.

I told him one day he'd be right next to me, and we'd rule it together. He got really excited about that.

"And we'll make sure there's no more wars." is what he said. "So no one has to come home hurt again."

This kid is going to make a great nation.

* * *

><p><em>February 6, 1871<em>

Ludwig has been taking care of me. Obviously, after the nurses, but he does his best. He brings me things from around the room and tells me stories to keep me entertained. Most of them are memorized and regurgitated from what I've told him, but I don't mind. He's so cute. I don't mind taking a break to spend more time with him. Even if it is because of a bullet in my stomach.

* * *

><p><em>December 20, 1879<em>

I feel like the world is changing.

It's so different than it was a few decades ago. Railroads! Who would have thought of that!

I don't know. Ludwig likes it. I'm starting to feel…old. Ludwig is older now, maybe five or six. He's still growing slow, but it's sped up in the last few years, and that scares me. I'm happy for him. I love seeing him grow up. But…he's not little anymore. He's…a big boy now. He needs me less.

I sound like a mother.

I've taken to talking with England. I don't know why. He's there. France is still getting on my nerves and who the hell else am I going to talk to, Austria? I'll shoot myself first.

Wilhelm isn't really pleased with me talking with him, but I told him I wasn't making any political moves and he'll just have to deal with it. I do what I like.

At first, all we talked about was little things. He's been a little bored too. Apparently I'm not the only one feeling a little left in the dust with all this technology. And then he mentioned how America was taking this all in stride and we both automatically became old hens.

America this, Ludwig that. It's amazing how much they have in common. I've never met America. He's on the other side of an ocean, and he doesn't interest me in the slightest.

England acts detached to everyone. He's like France's polar opposite. He can't stand emotions or being near someone or any sort of verbal agreement of attachment. I kind of get what he says. I have a bubble France likes to pop too.

But I've seen it. If you talk to him enough, you start to realize something. Maybe only I see it. I don't know. But I know it's there, though he'll deny it until the day he dies.

England loves America. He really does. He misses him. And I've heard France talk, say he thinks something happened between some American cotton sheets, but I know the truth. America is England's little brother.

And he misses him.

He loved that kid like I love Ludwig. I know he did, even if there was an ocean between them. I just know. And that's why he puts up with him now, why he hasn't ever really bothered with him again. Because that kid is his little brother. And he's hurting because he rejected him.

That hurt for a while. I realized that the same thing could happen to me and Ludwig. That one day…The German Empire could break apart. Maybe we'd be on opposite sides of a battlefield. I don't think I could do that. I…just couldn't.

I told England that, finally. He was quiet for a long time, and then he started asking me weird things. Did Ludwig sometimes get nightmares that seemed too graphic for his age. Did I sometimes get confused when I was talking to him. Did he say things and later deny them.

All yes. Of course. I hadn't thought much of any of them.

And then he said something that will stay ingrained in my mind forever.

"I'm starting to think we aren't just the sum of our whole. I am England, you are Prussia, and yet here we are, having tea. Why? What makes us want to sit here and talk? Do our people talk? Are we a part of an alliance? No, but here we are.

"We have minds of our own. Haven't you ever been friends with someone and not known why? We can do what we want. But there's that voice. You know it. I know it. That voice that tells you to do things. Go to war. Fight. Raise taxes, lower prices. Assassinate the king. Things you know aren't your thoughts but are?

"Here's the thing: we have a choice in the matter. We don't have to listen to that voice. I found that out. If you fight it hard enough, you can defeat it. It hurts. I won't lie, it hurts like all hell, but sometimes…that's worth it."

I'm not sure if that comment scares me or comforts me. But I do know one thing. England told me he had the chance to shoot America. Had the chance to blow his cocky head off. And every fiber of his being said _do it_. That voice, I know that voice, and I've never even tried to fight it, it said to pull the trigger. Bam. One shot, and the whole damn revolution, the whole American Experiment was a bloodstain on the grass.

And he didn't. The voice said yes and he…said no. He threw his gun down and America fired a few shots at him, and that was the end of that war.

He said no.

And now I'm so scared, because what if the times comes and I'm holding a gun to Ludwig's head and…

What if I can't say no?

* * *

><p><em>June 15, 1880<em>

Ludwig has tutors now. He's…learning things, things I haven't taught him. He tells me everything he remembers, he's proud to be smart like his big brother.

Why does he have to keep growing up? He's still my little boy, I know, because some nights he still comes to sleep with me, and he still always, _always_ runs to me first if he's scared or hurt or worried.

His playmates can tell he's different. Older. I don't know how. He plays with older boys, but sometimes they like to turn on him. They'll corner him, and he'll have nowhere to go. They're cowards, and they can't pick on him without the group, and Ludwig tries to be brave. He tries to make me proud and fight.

He's not bad at fighting. He could take one of them, I know it, but…there's usually four. And they're so much bigger. I'm never around when this happens. Of course not. They know who I am. They know if I see them picking on him I'll chase them back to their worthless hovels. They're damn smart about it. I tell Ludwig not to play with them, but he always does. I'm not sure why.

He comes home scraped and bruised. I'm always distraught over this. I know it's not bad. It's just bruises. He'll heal up fine. Part of being a little boy.

But he's _my_ little boy. I can't stand seeing him hurt. I just can't. I can't do it.

I'm going to murder those kids when I catch them.

* * *

><p><em>July 4, 1880<em>

I finally caught those little bastards at it. Those little _fucking bastards_.

Today they decided their usual games weren't enough. They had stones now. Those kids are growing up to be terrible people. If they grow up at all.

I caught one and would have demanded he take me to his mother if Ludwig wasn't on the ground crying. He never cries.

I just made sure the kid was scared out of his wits and told the market guard to give him a bad time if he ever saw him. Ludwig started crying out my name the moment he saw me and I had to calm him down for a moment before he would tell me what was wrong. He finally showed me his arm, bent at a sickly angle.

I have never been so angry in my life. I will find those children. I will hunt them down and send them and their parents to the farthest, most rotten corners of my Empire. Those children will pay.

I brought Ludwig back to the castle. I didn't trust anyone else to straighten his arm. The doctors in the town are fine, but I needed a royal doctor. This was Ludwig. This was my little brother. He needed the best I could give him.

He straightened Ludwig's arm just fine. He said it was a simple break, and so long as he was careful, it would heal in a few weeks. I don't know why this relieved me. I haven't known a soul to die of a broken arm. But seeing Ludwig in pain like that drove me mad.

He's curled against me now, asleep. Poor thing. I'm not letting him down to the town without me again. And I will find those kids. All of them. I don't care what I have to do. I don't even know what I'm going to do with them when I find them. But they will _pay_ for this.

* * *

><p>I just remembered today is America's birthday. He picked it himself. The day he declared his older brother his mortal enemy.<p>

I hear it's his favorite day.

Wonder what England's doing.

* * *

><p><em>July 6, 1880<em>

Found those little bastards.

It took some work, and a little bribery on the part of the market guard, but I found them. Two are brothers, the other two live close by. I didn't take anyone with me when I went banging on doors. I've cooled off enough to realize that maybe I can't send someone to Africa because their kid got in a fight.

Even if he is a dirty, conniving little ass.

I just wanted them to know that their kids were doing. The parents of the first apologized profusely, and offered me compensation for the medical treatment, which I denied. I didn't want their money. This wasn't their fault.

They made their son apologize to me. He looked bashful enough that I decided he'd learned his lesson and left them to chastise them how they saw fit.

The second was much of the same. Only a mother this time, looking a bit haggard. It took me a moment to realize she worked as a servant up in the castle. She recognized me, and I had to take a moment to calm her and tell her she still had her job, and no, I wouldn't take this up with the king. She knew Ludwig. She scolded her son for a good half an hour and I know she kept going once I'd left.

The third house was less pleasant.

The man that opened the door was about twice as wide as I was and a few inches taller. I had to take a step back to look him in the eye.

All he had to say about it was that 'boys were boys' and I couldn't go blaming his kids just because mine couldn't fight. I almost hit him for that. I told him Ludwig was younger than his sons, that they picked on him day after day, but he heard nothing of it. It was always Ludwig's fault. He couldn't fight.

I finally lost my temper. He was an ass and I wasn't going to just stand there and politely argue with him. I shouted that if he wanted to keep his house or kids he'd damn well apologize. He didn't believe me for a while, but there was a guard patrolling the street that came to see what the noise was about. When he backed up the threat, the man gave in and offered a weak apology.

It wasn't much. It wasn't anything, really. But he isn't worth my time. I know who he is. I'll see what sort of things I can do to make him believe it wasn't an empty threat.

I told Ludwig the other boys apologized. He didn't say much.

He's still sleeping in my bed.

* * *

><p><em>August 12, 1880<em>

Ludwig's arm is healed. I'm glad. He hasn't seemed the same.

As well as his tutoring, he's been asking to learn to fight. I'm not sure about this. I know it's a good idea, since he clearly needs it, and the earlier he learns, the better, but…

I feel like it's stealing some of his childhood. How much do I have left? How long until he doesn't need me anymore? How long until he picks up a gun and realizes he can point it at me?

Now it seems like that will never happen. I'm still his favorite person. I'm still his best friend. The only person he will ever share the words I love you with. He's getting older, and I'm… scared. I want…I want my little boy. I want him little forever. I know it isn't practical, I know it doesn't make sense and I know I can't have it but… I want him little forever.

But he won't be. One day, he'll have to defend himself. One day I…I might not be here. What if something ever happened to me? The idea scares me, and…it's not because I'm scared to die. It's because I'm scared for Ludwig. Who will take care of him? Who will protect him when France or Russia or Austria and Hungary decide they want the German Empire under their rule?

He needs to know how to fight. But I will teach him myself. I don't trust anyone else to do it.

* * *

><p><em>August 17, 1880<em>

He's still terrible with a sword. I'm not bothering with that. They're a bit old now anyway.

I'm not giving him a gun yet. He's six. It's not happening. But I've been teaching him to fight with his hands. I was afraid, after seeing him with a sword, that he'd grow up a terrible fighter. I'm glad I was wrong. He's still the worst swordsman I've ever seen, but he learns very fast. I can't really do much hand-on-hand, since I'm scared I'll hurt him, but I teach him the basics. How to break a hold. How to dodge a blow. All defensive for now. Right now, all he needs to know is how to get out of trouble.

I also set him running. It's good for him, and he needs the stamina. It seems like doesn't have enough of it, for a six-year-old. I never see him running or yelling with kids his age. But maybe that's because he seems older. I guess that's normal, after all, he is, but I can't help but remember that I used to play with other kids.

I'm not worried. He's very diligent, in his studies and training. I give him three laps and he runs four. He's a little over-achiever, and I have no idea where he gets it from, because it's not me. But I couldn't be more proud.

* * *

><p><em>December 10, 1880<em>

Ludwig asked when my birthday was. I told him I was too old to remember. He insisted I pick a day that was important and use that.

I humored him. Why not? I don't even remember how old I am. Old. That's all I need to know. I chose January 18. It's the day Fritz made me a kingdom, and the day Wilhelm made me an Empire. It's a good day, I think.

He seemed satisfied. I asked what day he wanted for his birthday, and he said he didn't have one yet. That confused me, but I guess a lot of things he says do.

* * *

><p><em>January 18, 1881<em>

To Ludwig's specifications, we celebrated my birthday.

It wasn't much. Ludwig demanded there be cake. I told the kitchens the day before so they knew. Ludwig was satisfied.

And I found the reason he'd wanted me to choose a birthday. He had a present for me.

It's a little eagle. He carved it from wood. I have no idea when or how, but it's rather cute. There's not a lot of detail to it, but he told me it's an eagle, so that's what I see, I suppose. He painted our flag on it. I can tell he's spent months on it.

I know, reasonably, it's not a good carving. But to me, it looks like the most beautiful piece of art in the world. I know this took months. I know day after day he snuck away and picked at it with his knife, until it looked like what he wanted. He put a lot of love into this bird.

I love it. It's my most treasured possession. It's on my bedside now, a little smaller than my fist, and I keep glancing at it every few minutes, like I'm scared it'll fly away or something.

I asked him to pick a birthday. Just to humor me. He thought for a long time and finally asked what day he'd come to live with me.

April 16. That's the day he chose.

I love that kid.

* * *

><p><em>March 8, 1881<em>

Ludwig's been having nightmares again.

* * *

><p><em>April 16, 1881<em>

Ludwig's birthday. I made sure the kitchens had a few days' notice, and they didn't disappoint. Me and Ludwig ate a feast, and there was even cake.

I had a few things for him. A few books, because he's been pining for more. A pocket watch, a very nice one, that he was thrilled with.

At last we were locked away in my room again, as we always seem to be, and I knelt down next to him. He said thank you for his gifts, as he had about a thousand times, and I told him there was one left.

I put it on him myself. The chain was a little long on him, but he'd grow into it one day. For now it lay in the middle of his chest, his own Iron Cross.

He recognized it. "Just like yours," he said. I nodded and told him what it was. He already knew a little. That kid learns fast. I had it made just for him. Technically, it's down in the record books as being assigned to 'Ludwig Beilschmidt' for 'Unrivaled service to our country'.

It's the truth. Where would I be without him?

* * *

><p><em>July 23, 1885<em>

Time just keeps moving forward. I wish it would stop. I want to stay where I am right now.

Ludwig keeps growing up. He's so old now…Almost eight, I think. He's learned so much. He blows past his tutors now. I swear all he does is read.

Until I call him down for training, that is. He's never late. He's always eager and ready, waiting to be taught something new. I've long since given in and started teaching him basic attacks, still with his bare hands. That's all he needs for now. But he's growing up so _fast_. What if I blink and he's grown?

He's amazing at defense by now. It takes me nearly an hour to wear him down enough to get him, and we're always laughing by the end of it. It's some of the best time we have. Four hours a day, every day. He's getting good fast. After eight years, he's better than most of my soldiers. But it'll take a lot more for him to beat me.

He says one day he'll do it. He'll grab me before I grab him. I laugh, because I'm scared of that day. I fight harder, as if he really were an enemy, because the day he taps my collarbone is the day he's grown past me. That's the day he doesn't need me anymore.

I'm scared of that day.

He can run for miles now. More than me. He's always running, trying to get faster, trying to get stronger. He's still a little twig. I can't believe it. He relies on speed where I use strength. And he's just as fast as I am strong. The only thing that stands in his way is my experience, and he can't get that running.

He's learning, though. I know he's smart. He watches me. Looks for the things I don't teach him. It takes him just a few minutes to pin the weaker soldiers that dare come up to volunteer for a fist-fight with an eight-year-old.

I'm so proud. I keep seeing the hint of a man he's turning into. He's clever and strong and cunning like his big brother. And there's something more. He's fast. He's not just clever, he's smart, in a way I never was. He can read a book and tell you every word. He's been learning languages, French, English, Danish, Russian, whatever he can get his hands on. He knows snippets from all of them. I sometimes talk to him in English as much as German. It drives the others crazy.

He's growing up. I have to accept that. But maybe that's not a bad thing. He doesn't come to me crying about nightmares anymore. He doesn't rely on me to fight his battles. The boys that scared him once are men now, and they're terrified of him, though they don't recognize him. He still plays with boys older than him, but he never comes home bruised. If there's a fight, he can handle himself just fine. But he's not a bully. I'm not sure he has it in him to be like that. He's a scholar, not a fighter. I always thought that a bit weak, but Ludwig makes it look impressive.

I still have my eagle. He's told me to get rid of it, he can't believe he was ever proud of it, but of course I don't. I still love it. It's still my most prized possession. He still wears his cross, after all. Usually under his shirt, since it hangs down pretty far on his skinny little chest, but around the castle he shows it off proudly.

I hope this lasts forever. I hope we can just stay here like this, forever and ever. And I'll be happy right here. I'm happier than I've ever been in my entire life. And I don't think it can get much better.

Life is damn good.

* * *

><p><em>September 26, 1887<em>

I was wrong. Ludwig has been having nightmares.

He's been tired lately. I didn't think much of it, since he still seemed fine in training. I just thought maybe he was up too late reading.

I came to his room late one night when I caught the light on, intending to scold him and tell him to go to sleep.

But he was asleep. I assumed he'd just forgotten and crossed the room to turn it off and let him sleep easier, but something caught my eyes in the light.

He was crying. In his sleep. I stood and watched him for a while, to make sure he really was asleep, but there was no doubting it.

I know it's the nightmares. I know it. I wiped his eyes and pulled the blanket closer around him, wishing I could do more, and left. I wish he would come to me. I wish he would tell me! I know I can't help but…there must be something.

He isn't that far gone, is he?

* * *

><p><em>March 9, 1888<em>

Wilhelm died.

I'll miss him. I always miss my kings. He was a good man. I can't shake the feeling that if it weren't for him, I wouldn't have Ludwig. I'll always be thankful to him for that.

He lived a good life. Ninety. Almost ninety-one. That's good for a human.

Ludwig's been a little weird about it. He's seen people die before, he knows, but… I think this made him realize how fragile humans are. I've been around forever, I haven't changed, and while I think on some level he understands why that is, it's also meant that anyone he was attached to couldn't leave him. His nurses have died before, and he was always a little sad, but none of them meant much to him.

I don't think Wilhelm meant much to him. He's never been very interested in royalty. But I think he picked up that he was important to me. I guess he applied the same logic. Anyone I love couldn't die either.

I wish it worked that way. Then I'd still have Fritz, wouldn't I? But maybe this is good for him. He needs a dose of reality. He's getting older. He needs to learn these things happen. I hate that he has to learn it, but maybe it'll protect him. If he knows that love hurts, he'll be careful about who he gives it to.

* * *

><p><em>June 15, 1888<em>

Frederich was emperor for ninety-nine days. It hasn't even been a year.

I think it changed how Ludwig sees death. It's not something that just happens at the end of a long and happy life. Something else could steal it away.

I hope he understands it. He'll be dealing with death a lot. I can't protect him forever.

Still. He's so logical. His people have been pumping out breakthroughs at a ridiculous rate. I can't believe some of the stuff they're coming up with. I wonder what he'll come up with next. I'm a little scared. I always thought science was something that shouldn't be messed with too deeply, but he seems to think the exact opposite, and even my opinion doesn't matter enough to stop him. He tears through the walls of superstition and long-accepted fact and finds some new truth. I'm scared one day he'll go too far. What if he starts building weapons? What if he finds new ways to kill people?

But that's stupid. I can't ever imagine Ludwig being comfortable with death. He avoids dead bugs. It's something strange and uneasy to him, and he tends to get around dealing with it any way he can. Usually this involves me cleaning dead things from his room.

I asked him once why he doesn't like death. Besides the obvious, of course. He said…what was it? "It's the unknown. I don't know what makes it work. I don't know what happens afterword."

Ludwig is Christian. He goes to church with me. But hearing him say that made me wonder how much he's been listening.

* * *

><p><em>November 17, 1888<em>

The miners went on strike in Upper Silesia. Something stupid, I don't know. Wilhelm has been a little uneasy lately. Other European countries have been changing. Royalty has been becoming nothing but a figurehead.

I've been giving Ludwig the chance to give his ideas. I meant it when I said we would rule this empire together, and I know he's getting old enough to be of use.

He said we should send the army after them. Make them get back to work. We don't negotiate with miners.

I've…not seen that side of Ludwig before. I didn't know he had it in him to so easily brush off violence on that scale, against people who, in reality, really weren't doing anything _wrong_. Clearly something was wrong, and I told him perhaps, first, we should try and see what the miners wanted. See if it was unreasonable. He agreed immediately. I think he was a little embarrassed at jumping there so fast.

I'm going to have to keep an eye on him. I didn't know that side of him was there, and if I'm going to be giving him the power to make these decisions on his own, I need to make sure he understands the difference between necessary roughness and cruelty. But he's a good kid. I don't think he really meant anything by it. He just hasn't learned yet. I'm not worried.

We managed to negotiate with the miners. It wasn't that hard, really. They're back to work now, and everyone is happy.

I'll still be keeping an eye on Ludwig.

* * *

><p><em>February 4, 1889<em>

Ludwig has finally convinced me to teach him to use a gun.

I've been letting him use pistols for now. The bayonets are starting to get antiquated, and by the time he'll need it, they'll probably be using these anyway.

Ludwig was terrible with a sword. He's alright hand-to-hand. But he's brilliant with a gun.

I worried that the sword would have forecast any weapon put in his hands. But he's _brilliant_. He's only just started and his aim is amazing. I can only imagine what he'll be capable of when he's properly trained.

* * *

><p><em>December 26, 1889<em>

Christmas is always quiet for us. We don't do much. Exchange a few gifts, eat with the royal family, it's quiet. We like it that way. Mostly it's an excuse to stop studying and training and just relax. A feel-good day, you know?

But…all we did was argue. Over the _stupidest_ things, too. We never argue. It's… I don't even remember what it was about. All I know is it was stupid and I can't believe we spent Christmas bickering.

Is this a sign of him growing up? He's always taken everything I say for the undeniable truth, but lately he's been questioning it. Everything I say he has an answer for. It's getting on my nerves.

I miss the little boy that carved me an eagle. Where did he go?

* * *

><p><em>March 30, 1890<em>

We've been arguing all month. It's just gotten worse. Now it's over important things. The empire, how we should run it, what we're doing with it. He's getting cocky about it. He wants more control, and I don't want to give it to him.

Finally I snapped. I told him his word meant nothing around here, that this was my empire and he was living in it. I feel bad for saying. It _is_ our empire. But…I'm scared he's not as mature as he thinks. He's going to make mistakes. The longer I'm above him in the chain of command, the more I can cushion the blow of whatever mistakes he does make.

I know I had more power when I was less mature than him. But I made mistakes, and they hurt me. I know he needs to make mistakes and grow, but people die when we make mistakes. I just don't want him to realize that yet.

* * *

><p><em>October 5, 1893<em>

I've been having bad headaches lately. I usually have to go to my room and lie down for a while, just to function.

The government is feuding. I know Ludwig feels it too, but it's not as harsh. The chancellors aren't doing their jobs, and Ludwig has been pulling away from me more than ever. I can't help but feel like ten years ago he wouldn't have left my side if he knew I was having headaches. Now he avoids me whenever he can. Maybe because he knows they're partially his fault.

I've been snapping at him. It seems like all I do is yell at him. I'm irritable and impatient and he's not helping. I have a horrible sense of doom. Something is happening.

I can't help but feel Ludwig is behind all of it.

* * *

><p><em>November 17, 1895<em>

Me and Ludwig seem to get along only when it suits us. He's adamant about having his place in the government. I know he's not ready. I know it. But he won't listen to me! All he does it rant about Marx and his Social Democratic Party or whatever the fuck he's calling it!

I'm worried about him. I'm worried _for_ him. He's going to make a mistake. Someone's going to get hurt.

I still have headaches. Right now I can hardly see straight. Usually they're gone by the end of an hour, so I'm not too concerned. This will pass. I know it'll pass.

* * *

><p><em>January 18, 1896<em>

Ludwig forgot my birthday.

* * *

><p><em>March 24, 1897<em>

The headaches are getting worse.

* * *

><p><em>August 3, 1898<em>

Some days I can't even drag myself out of bed to try and fix whatever is causing these headaches.

I'm so tired.

* * *

><p><em>January 1, 1900<em>

I can't believe it's a new millennium.

That's another century come and gone. I think it was my favorite so far. We'll have to see.

Ludwig must be about eleven now. We still bicker, but then some days we'll pass out in some back room in the castle, worn out by our own government, and I'll wake up with him right next to me, like we used to sleep when he was smaller.

Why does he have to grow up so fast? We still have days when all we do is laugh, when everything seems ridiculous and the very idea of arguing is miles away. I love him. I know he loves me. It's just…puberty, I suppose. It's natural for him to want to push away at this age. But I'm not his mother, I'm his brother. I hope that he always sees me that way. As a friend. As someone who will bail his stupid ass out when he gets in trouble.

And one day I'll rely on him the same way.

It's just a phase.

* * *

><p><em>February 16, 1900<em>

I couldn't even bother trying to get out of bed today. My head still feels like it's about to crack open. There's something wrong. I'm worried. I've been hiding the worst of it from Ludwig, but I'm worried he's been figuring me out.

* * *

><p><em>February 21, 1900<em>

I haven't gotten up for five days. I just can't. I think my skull is going to implode.

Ludwig came to my room today. I apologized for not getting any work done and he just said not to worry about it. He spent the rest of the day fetching me damp cloths for my head and food from the kitchens.

It reminds me of when he was younger and he would run around the room, trying to make me feel better. And it makes me smile, because I know he does care about me. He's just…bad at showing it. He's an awkward kid when it comes to that. But I know he loves me. And I damn well make sure I tell him I love him every day.

* * *

><p><em>February 28, 1900<em>

I managed to get back on my feet. The headaches come and go now, but I've learned to work around them. Me and Ludwig have been arguing over plenty of things, but only in politics. I think our relationship is starting to mend elsewhere. We're both learning how to separate our work from ourselves. While that might not be entirely possible for us, we do try.

* * *

><p><em>April 16, 1905<em>

Ludwig's birthday. He's been less excited about celebrating it, but I know it makes him smile. And that's an accomplishment, lately.

God, he's…so old now! He might be pushing fourteen, but since it's an inexact science of guessing a nation's physical age, he's still thirteen. I'm keeping him as young as possible as long as possible.

He's turning into a man. There's stubble on his chin now, though he's pretty good about keeping it clean. His jaw is squaring out. His shoulders are broader. His voice cracked, and I can't believe how deep it is. Deeper than mine.

I still talk with England. Our countries may be facing opposite directions but that doesn't mean we can't be hopeless old men together. I've asked him about America (who I still have yet to meet), and some of the pain isn't there anymore. He says they're on good terms now. He and America talk plenty. Even with an ocean between them, they get along fine.

I tell him about my concerns about Ludwig growing past me and he laughs. He says by the time America revolted he was already taller than him. Apparently America is huge. Maybe not as big as Russia, but he sounds close. I wonder if that's just England's take on him, because I've noticed England is a bit on the scrawny side. A damn powerful empire and a cold-blooded ex-pirate, but physically he looks like a strong gust of wind would knock him over. Or at least steal his umbrella.

We're quiet for a while, drinking the tea he has, which is good, but I've never been a huge tea person, and suddenly I ask him what to look for. When should I be scared that Ludwig is going to rebel the way America did. America seemed to set a standard. I know Spain's colonies fought against him (though I get the impression Spain wasn't the kindest overlord). Hell, even France had his own little meltdown. I can't help but feel Ludwig is going to follow suit one day.

England just shakes his head and says it's not something sudden. It's not like one day he'll wake up and hate me. People have to be unhappy for a long time before they'll risk dying to change anything. I get nervous at that, because I know Ludwig's people have been unhappy with me for a while now.

I will never tell England this, but I'm jealous of him. I still have a damn good army, but lately I've been worrying… That it's not the best, anymore. I was the best in Europe, once. And I'm starting to worry that I'm falling behind.

But England and his British Empire just keeps getting stronger. Even without America. I'm jealous and frustrated, but, like I said, I'll never tell him that. I think he knows though. I've been trying to scrape together colonies overseas, but it's a laughable endeavor, really. England knows I'm a threat, but he's still bigger. If we were to go at each other, nothing held back, with no one in our way… I'm not sure I would win.

And that's the first and last time I will ever admit that.

* * *

><p><em>June 2, 1906<em>

Ludwig's been getting headaches. I've been pulling his power out of the government without him knowing to keep them at bay.

I hope it's working. He'll be furious if he finds out.

* * *

><p><em>August 8, 1907<em>

He found out. I didn't have the energy to argue with him.

My head is killing me.

* * *

><p><em>May 19, 1908<em>

Ludwig and I spend all day arguing. He's what…fifteen?

Where did the years go? When did he grow up?

* * *

><p><em>January 3, 1909<em>

I'm cold.

* * *

><p><em>January 18, 1911<em>

Today was my birthday. Ludwig gave me another carving. This one looks amazing. I think it's a bit of an apology for how much we've been fighting. It looks like he's been studying it. I put it next to his other one, and in my mind, they're the same, really. This one is bigger, and there's so much detail… He's not an artistic kid, he'd rather study math than music (and I thank god for that, because I don't think I could stand it if he took up piano). But he's got the right mind for it. I swear he could be good at anything he put his mind to.

Usually I would be jealous. Clearly he's better than me. At nearly everything. I _should_ be jealous. And yet, all I am is proud.

* * *

><p><em>June 28, 1914<em>

Austria's archduke was murdered.

Can't say I'm very torn up about it.

To be honest, I don't think he is either.

* * *

><p><em>June 30, 1914<em>

Ludwig is…so old.

He must be at least seventeen. I can barely get past him in training. After a few hours, maybe, and then I'm out of breath for a while. To be fair, so is he.

He's getting good at offense now. We spend entire lessons with him trying to get past me, and he's almost gotten it once or twice. He's getting stronger. He's bulking out. He used to be such a skinny kid, and now I'm starting to wonder if he's growing past me. I'm still taller than him, but only by what? A few inches? I worry that he'll get taller than me. How am I supposed to be a role model if he's looking down at me?

And I'm not the only that's noticed. It's not just soldiers that watch us train now. Young women come to watch the show, and they always have eyes just for Ludwig. I suppose word has gotten around by now that I'm a miserable old prude, but Ludwig still has promise. And they like what they see.

Part of me encourages this. I want to see him experience that, at least. He needs a first kiss. A date. A girlfriend. I know it can't mean much, with a human, but he needs to have that.

The rest of me vehemently disagrees. It wants Ludwig to stay young. It wants him to stay pure and innocent. It knows love is a nasty thing and will only hurt him. He can never really be happy with a human. Not really.

I know I need to let him grow. I need to give him my blessing to look at the girls. I did, after all. I was terrible about it. Now it's his turn.

Maybe I'm just too busy seeing the little boy that darted around my room when I was bedridden, determined to take care of me.

He knows that's what I see, sometimes. It embarrasses him, but I think, somewhere, he's happy I remember. He's happy I kept the eagle. That I hold on to memories of us together, because nothing could be more important to either of us.

His cross fits now. It hangs around his neck, and he wears it proudly. The design is different from mine, but it's recognizable. No one within fifty miles doesn't know of the Beilschmidt brothers, because a closer pair you couldn't find.

Now and then, I realize he's becoming my little brother less and less. More often, I see him as my companion. An equal. A friend. He's always been that, but… I'm starting to realize one day we'll be the same age. I won't be older than him forever. As much as it may feel like I'm getting older, I know physically I'm suck here forever. And he's growing so fast… One day he'll get here too.

* * *

><p><em>July 28, 1914<em>

Austria and Hungary declared war on Serbia.

Morons don't realize Russia'll be on them in a matter of hours.

Why do I get the feeling this is going to become my problem?

* * *

><p><em>July 30, 1914<em>

I've declared war on Russia.

Maybe I've been a bit low on energy these past few years, but the German Empire doesn't back down from a challenge, and, as little as I want to admit it, Austria and Hungary are the last allies I have left. I have to help them.

Ludwig is eager. He wants to see war. He's improved so much over the years, he's nearly as good as me by now. He's brilliant with a gun, he's dangerous with just his hands, and I've been teaching him to fight with a knife.

I feel sorry for anyone who gets in his way.

But I can't just send him out to war. He's still naïve. Maybe I can take him someplace safe, just to give him a taste of it.

I hear France is mobilizing. Maybe those fronts would be a better idea than anything to the East.

* * *

><p><em>August 4, 1914<em>

Ludwig got past me in training today.

* * *

><p><em>August 14, 1914<em>

We're invading France. I'm taking Ludwig with me.

* * *

><p><em>September 12, 1914<em>

The war is not going well.

We might have beat France down, but England came to help him at the last minute, and we can't push past them. I don't think we will.

Ludwig's frustrated because I won't let him through to the front lines. He wants to fight, and I'm keeping him back here with me.

I think he could handle it. I know he could handle it. He's an excellent fighter, but… Something stops me every time. I can't do it. I can't bear to let him out into the middle of everything. I can't stand seeing him get hurt.

He's getting mad at me, but as long as he's in one piece, I don't care.

That's not true, I do care. But he's not going anywhere.

* * *

><p><em>September 14, 1914<em>

I can't find Ludwig.

* * *

><p><em>October 16, 1914<em>

Ludwig is impatient and angry, but I've pulled him from the heart of the action. Clearly he can't listen to me if he goes running off when I tell him to stay put. Twenty years ago he would have listened!

We're back in Berlin now, where I hope he's safe. There's pressure on the East and West, and we're best in the middle, where we can command both sides of the war equally. I can't focus too much on one side. I already learned that.

I'm starting to ache. It's the war. I know, but… I'm a little nervous if I'm sore this soon on. But it'll be alright. Things have looked grim before only to pull out in a victory. I know we'll win this.

We have to.

* * *

><p><em>April 22, 1915<em>

We're on the defensive, but that's alright. Because it gives us the edge. Our trenches are deeper and sturdier, and theirs blow right apart.

Today, Ludwig finally convinced me to use one of his more disturbing creations. Chlorine gas. It's nasty stuff. Practically melts the flesh off bones. I'm not sure about this stuff, but it was an undeniable help. We used it to blow a hole right through their lines and marched through.

I've been hurting less, but it's still something I'm worried about. These are weapons we've never seen before. Tanks and gasses, what next?

Most of the weight is on my shoulders. Ludwig doesn't need this now. I want him to have experience, but this is a massive war, and it's only getting bigger. If we take a hit, I'm the one that will feel it.

I know Ludwig is mad. But that's alright. Because he's healthy, and that's what really matters.

He's a hundred this year. I can't say exactly when he was born, but I first saw him at the Treaty of Versailles, and that… that was a century ago.

Ludwig has a century to his name. It's not old, it's still so, so young, but…he survived a century. And…that means something. It's been almost fifty years since he first came to live with me. Fifty years since he told me he loved me for the first time. And I said it back.

Ludwig is a hundred years old.

* * *

><p><em>June 1, 1916<em>

It's been a hard war.

We can't seem to make any progress anywhere. No one can budge, us or them. We're just stuck. They have manpower, and we have strategy. And it's wearing me down. People die every day, so many people. I feel exhausted and empty, like someone's draining all the blood from my veins.

But I've done this before. I can keep doing this. I'm not the only one that feels like this. I know England and France are wearing thin.

They have American and Canadian troops among their men. Neither country has claimed a place in the war, but it's clear where their loyalties will lie if and when they do. I pray they have the sense to stay out of this. I'm running out of strategy.

Austria and Hungary have been doing alright against Russia, but he's a very hard hitter and they've been on the defensive. I suppose we all are. None of us are really sure how this will play out. This war looked so much shorter a few years ago.

Ludwig is still furious. I just don't have the energy to argue with him. He yells and storms away, and then comes back and begs for something to do. I've been keeping him busy, but it's never enough.

We don't have time to train anymore. Even if we did, I just can't find the energy. If this weren't a war, I would be back in bed for a few days.

This is coward's talk. We are strong, and we will win. I am not afraid of a hundred years of this. The German Empire is strong. It is impenetrable. It knows no fear.

We will win.

* * *

><p><em>December 19, 1916<em>

The Allies must love blood.

We went to them, because this war is getting too long and we can't remember what we're fighting for anymore, and asked for peace.

They didn't believe us for a while. They said it was ploy. We were trying to divide them.

Finally, we got a damn response. Peace, in exchange for 'restoration of damages, the evacuation of occupied territories, reparations for France, Russia, and Romania, and a recognition of the principle of nationalities'.

Are they serious? Restorations of damages? For _what?_ For a war?

Since we wouldn't offer anything on our end, (what the hell did we want? We want the war to be over! That's all!) they backed out.

They refuse to resume negotiations until we give them their reparations. I've got their reparations. In my gun.

I will not pay them to end a war. I had hoped this could be stopped without further bloodshed, but apparently not. I am not surrendering. I am offering peace. And they rejected it.

I feel the world shifting under my feet. Fifty years ago, anyone could see this was a ridiculous request. We might have made it, but both sides would have known. It's nonsensical. And yet they act like we are the evil ones. This was a war fought because we all had something to prove and a lot to lose. I'll admit to attacking France, but I've done that dozens of times. Really, he should be used to it.

And England came to his aid. I never did think about what might happen if those two wound up fighting on the same side. It worries me a bit.

All I can think is that I am standing between two fronts inching closer, and I fear losing more than I did at the beginning of this war. I have seen what the Allies consider proper punishment. They will not annex me. They will not tear away my territory and leave me bleeding. They intend to serve me justice.

I fear them.

* * *

><p><em>March 3, 1918<em>

Russia had his own revolution.

Gotta figure the guy was tired of being a hopeless waste of space. Apparently his new ideas are based on Marx. The same guy Ludwig idolized a few years ago. Can't stand him myself, but the weak-minded always go first, I suppose. I always figured Ludwig for smarter than that.

I signed a treaty with Russia, and he's stepped out of the war for now. I think all of us in the Central Powers breathed a sigh of relief. Britain and France have been pushing us hard.

I'm not sure how well we could handle that.

It seems like we're running in circles. They take a step forward and we take a step back. They step back and we step forward. We're always toeing the line of real victory, and it's been pushing resolve down.

America joined the war. It makes me uneasy. I've finally seen him with my own eyes, and England wasn't lying. He's huge. It makes me realize that all of his land his bigger than every state in Europe combined.

But he's young. And he doesn't have anyone to back into if he gets hurt. He's raw meat, and the Allies know it.

But maybe raw meat is all they've needed.

I'm so sore. I ache. The headaches have only gotten worse. I'm just falling apart, and I want this war to be over so I can start picking up the pieces already.

I want peace. I ache for it. My people are angry, but worn thin. They are bubbling at the surface, shouting for a change. I hear the whispers of revolution, and I worry. Europe has been changing. Kings have become figureheads, and Wilhelm clings adamantly to his throne. I support him as best I can, as many of my people do, but the opposition is growing stronger.

It is not my people that complain the loudest. Ludwig snaps at Wilhelm every chance he gets, and he is about as patient with me. I know he is staring down the precipice of revolution, and it terrifies me more than any war.

I am bigger than him, and my army thicker, but my mind warns me of history's mistakes. America was but thirteen colonies when he defeated the then-strongest army in the world. England has never been pushed away when he wanted something.

Power is a force that will turn hands into fists and brothers into enemies. I know I am pushing him away when I take his power. His government grows stronger, and I cling harder to mine. It is not greed, though I must admit that I am unwilling to sacrifice control of the Empire I worked so hard to build to someone with so little experience.

I fear for Ludwig. I do not want him in this war. I do not want to leave him a mess to clean up. The pain is getting worse as the war pushes on, and I fear what the Allies will do should they win. I've lost a lot of hope of winning.

I will not subject Ludwig to that, whether he thinks he is ready or not.

* * *

><p><em>June 28, 1919<em>

The war is over.

Both of them.

I feel the Allies picking at my land. It is as if they are plucking at stitches holding me down to my borders. I feel them pull them free just to stitch me someplace new. They are constantly changing their minds. They do not know what to do with the German Empire.

I am glad Ludwig does not have to feel this pain. He will, soon. But for now, the Empire is mine more than his, and this pain is mine alone.

I hope the Allies make their decisions soon. I can't take much more of this.

* * *

><p><em>July 1, 1919<em>

All I can see is the barrel of his gun, so steady, so even, because he's a master shot, even so young. And the cold press of the trigger on my finger, slick with sweat. The day I'd feared more than anything. The day I swore I'd never see, never have to face, and here it was, and Ludwig was so calm. He stared me down and I stared back, because this was still my Empire, not his. Mine.

I could shoot him. I knew I could. He was fast, but I'd done this for years. I knew if I pulled the trigger I would walk away unscathed and he wouldn't. I could aim for the stomach. The leg. Just a finger. Something small. I didn't have to kill him. Didn't have to cripple him.

Every single fiber of my being said to shoot him. To aim for the head and cut my loses. I could have my Empire. This Empire I'd built from the ground up, one I'd tried to share and was about to lose. This was _mine_. And I could have it, all I had to do was shoot. Shoot!

But this was my _brother_. This was the boy that had warmed my heart with just three words. The boy that spent months carving an eagle for me, demanded I choose a birthday just so he could celebrate with me. Who came crying when his nightmares were too much, who slept in my bed night after night! This was my little brother! And just because he decided that none of that mattered, that decades of love and joy meant nothing to him, that didn't mean I had to think the same.

So I flicked off the safety and threw the gun to the floor and help my arms wide.

"So shoot me." I told him quietly. "Shoot your big brother."

He did.

* * *

><p><em>July 4, 1919<em>

Ludwig has claimed the German Empire for himself. I am his state.

But the ache left from war stays with me. I hurt like I never have before, so badly I can't move. I can barely drag my hand across the page. Even that hurts. I have to stop every now and then and rest before I can go on.

The Allies had high demands, and they kept them through the Treaty. This will hurt him. He's too young to see something this hard. He won't know what to do. And how can I help him? He doesn't want my help.

The castle is antiquated. He burns it. I am not strong enough to stand, but I sit in my frigid wheelchair and watch. This is where we are now. Watching flames lick the stone walls. He wants it destroyed.

This is where he grew up. Where I first taught him to fight, where we spent hours and hours in the hot sun, sand loose underfoot, wiping sweat from our eyes, laughing and wrestling, playfully, and seriously. The training yard is ruined. Gone. Turned to ashes. We won't hide from work in the shadows of the trees there anymore. We won't race each other back to the wide front gates, laughing as we try to trip each other. We won't trace the golden carvings along the door, because now they're burned away, tongues of flame lick the gaping hole where it used to be.

This is where I raised my little brother. I rescued precious few possessions from my room before he demanded I leave. I shouted at him, I told him he couldn't do this, couldn't destroy our home, but he is deaf to me now. I took what I could. My eagles, because I will never part with them, my journal, which I am glad I took, because it has so many happy memories in it, and little else. My portrait of Fritz is gone, too heavy for me to carry in this state. I have nothing left from him but the shorter end of his flute, something he gave to me before he died. It's tucked in my pocket now. I can feel it pressing against me, and I wish he were here. I wish he'd been here for the war. We wouldn't have lost if Fritz were still king.

Ludwig will not look at me. I want him to. Silently, I dare him to. To look me in the eyes, but he won't. I glare at the back of his head and he does nothing. He knows I am there. He knows I am watching him. He knows I hate that he's burned our home.

He knows, but he will not care. He stands with his feet planted firmly, hands clasped behind his back, watching the smoke slide up into the sky. Does he feel anything? Does he feel a drop of remorse for this? Can he really look at this place and feel nothing?

Where is my little brother? I have lost him. This monster is a bastardized replacement. I want nothing to do with him. Nothing! I clutch my eagles now, afraid he will turn and snatch them from me, throw them into the fire. I would dive in after them. I have nothing else to live for.

I mourn the loss of him as if he were dead. Ludwig is dead to me. He is gone.

This new monster claims a name I haven't heard in decades. They call it to him, his new chancellors, and he turns, no smile on his face, no sign of recognition. He is all business and no give.

Land of the Germans, he calls himself.

He is Germany.

* * *

><p><em>September 14, 1919<em>

I mourn for my brother. It seems all I see when I close my eyes and try to rest is his smiling face, something I haven't seen in so long. I think of birthdays and nights spent close as I told him stories. I think of cold winter days spent beneath the blankets, playing pretend and begging hot soup out of the cooks downstairs. I think of the warm feel of a little boy in my arms, fast asleep after an hour of crying, face peaceful, little head resting on my shoulder.

I'm healing badly. In fact, I've hardly healed at all. I stay in bed most days, my new bed.

My heart aches.

I have a room to myself, in Germany's house. It's rather large, but nothing very extravagant. There isn't much in it. All our memories were burned. He took nothing from the castle.

All his books. All the things I've given him over the years, some I've toiled over for months. And he watched them burn.

I can't think about that now. All I do is mourn my brother. I must move on. I am not a coward, and I am not weak. It is my own misery that keeps me from healing. I am sure of it.

Tomorrow I will get up. Tomorrow I will do something.

But for now I will stroke the perfect feathers of my eagles.

* * *

><p><em>September 15, 1919<em>

I can't stand. I tried. I spent so long trying to convince my legs to hold me, but every time they gave out.

I am relegated to this wheelchair. My journals used to be so full of the past. Trying to keep up with what I did, because I was too busy to write it down. But now all I do is write, because what else can I do? I have no country. I have no brother. I am useless. I may as well enjoy the peace and solitude.

I crave England's companionship. It's strange, because we were never close friends, but I need to talk to someone. Someone who understands what I say when I mourn my past. I saw this sadness in him, when we spoke of America. It was pushed farther down, and trampled into the corner of his mind, but I saw it. I was so terrified that one day it would be mine, and now it is. But at least England walked away with his Empire. I wish I were so lucky.

I'm busy talking about Ludwig again. I promised myself I wouldn't.

I'm in the backyard now. It's quiet. I like it. We live on a hill now, without any real boundaries. The land flows down like water, brushing the edges of Berlin. I can sit out here and watch the city, far enough away that the violent excitement of Berlin does not reach me, but close enough to see the beauty of it.

It was mine once.

There are birds out here. I wonder what kind they are. Ludwig studied birds once. Perhaps Germany knows, if he would speak to me. I watch them from my chair, fluttering back and forth. It's September. Shouldn't they be flying south? But I don't mind the company. They twitter at me and it's the best conversation I've had in a long time.

* * *

><p><em>September 29, 1919<em>

The birds have flown south. I'm alone here.

Germany leaves early and comes home late. He always looks haggard. He has grown used to me waiting for him in my chair, sitting in the front room when he finally does come home, sky already dotted with stars. He is strict in his routine. He loosens his tie, sets his hat on the rack beside the door, puts his briefcase on the desk in the corner, and disappears into the kitchen to eat something before he stumbles upstairs and collapses into bed. He never looks up. He never so much as glances at me. It's as if I don't exist.

Sometimes I wonder why he keeps me here. Why does he put me in the same house? Yes, I am his state, but there is no law that says we must live under the same roof. I can't understand it. I can't understand him. I understood Ludwig. I don't understand Germany.

I crave company. I've always been a social person, this…silence. It's maddening. I can't stand this much longer. What does he expect me to do? He pretends I don't exist, ignores me. It is as if I am a ghost.

I have wondered this. Maybe I am. Maybe I just watch from the grave, unaware that I am dead. But I'm in too much pain to be dead.

* * *

><p><em>December 25, 1919<em>

Germany apparently doesn't celebrate Christmas. That's fine. I do.

It took me forever to get up the stairs. I had to cling to the handrail and stop every few steps to catch my breath. It must have taken twenty minutes. But I made it. I left his gift on his pillow, where I know he'll find it eventually.

I hope he likes it.

* * *

><p><em>December 26, 1919<em>

I stayed outside last night, listening for him to come home. It's getting cold outside, so I brought a blanket. I sat at the edge of the house so I could lean against the wall and see the lights down in the city.

I heard him come inside. I heard his briefcase slam on the desk and the heavy, dragging clop of his shoes as he stumbled into the kitchen. I waited patiently, pulling the blanket tighter around my shoulders.

Finally, I heard him stomp up the steps, lights flicking off as he went. I smiled and closed my eyes, breathing in the crisp December air.

A while later, I heard his footsteps coming back down the stairs. He wandered around the house for a few minutes before the door slid open. I kept my eyes closed, still smiling.

I heard him hesitate and, finally, sit down in the grass next to me. I cracked open one eye and glanced down at him.

"Did you like your present?"

Germany held up the little wooden sword, staring at it in the light sparkling our way from the city. I smiled.

"You're terrible at swordsmanship."

"I know."

Those were the first words he'd said to me. I remember my heart thrumming happily in my chest. Maybe my little brother wasn't dead forever. He stabbed the little sword down into the grass, watching it stick up at an angle. I chuckled.

"Sorry it's not anything better. I haven't gotten out much."

"Yeah."

We were quiet for a while, staring at Berlin.

"It's really pretty on Christmas."

"It's always been beautiful."

"I'm sorry." he said finally.

"Mmm…what for?"

"For taking it from you." Germany said quietly.

We were quiet for a long time. I reached out and stroked his hair after a while, brushing it back out of his eyes.

"I remember when you were little." I said happily. "You always made me tell you stories. You even counted them. You were such a little smartass."

Germany looked away then.

"Tell me a story, Prussia."

"About what?"

"Tell me a story about how to make this better."

I leaned down and kissed his hair.

"I can't tell you about something you haven't done yet, Ludwig."

* * *

><p><em>January 1, 1920<em>

I feel a little better. Germany is still gone from dawn to dusk, but he no longer collapses into bed the moment he gets home. He smiles at me, though he still won't look me in the eye. Everything comes with time, I suppose. I'm bored out of my mind, but Germany says he wants me to rest. I suppose I should. I still can't quite stand up on my own.

But I'm healing. At least, I think I am. Maybe it's just my imagination. And there's new aches, too, as I settle into my new land. Most of it hasn't changed. But there's some borders that were adjusted. Poland owns a lot of what used to be me. Sometimes I think I can feel it, like a phantom limb, but it must be my imagination. I have no hold on that land. It's Poland's now, even if it is East Prussia.

But the East is where I've always been. That was where I started. It hurts to let go of it. I suppose it'll take a while before I get used to everything.

I've asked Germany how the government is doing, since it's practically impossible to hear word of anything isolated here at the top of a hill, but he just smiles and says everything is fine.

I know he's lying. Of course he's lying. I lied to him, after all. I suppose I'll let him do it, just pretend that I believe him and let him try this bizarre role reversal. I can't help but wonder how he's doing, being in charge. He was good at it when I was with him, but…people change when there's pressure on them. I'm worried about him. He's still young. A little over a century now. That's nothing to us. America is three-hundred, and he's still considered young and inexperienced. But Germany took my legacy when he took power. I know the Allies don't see a young nation struggling to keep a grasp on an unsteady countryside. They see… Well they see me. They don't differentiate. In English, it's all the same word. Germany. It's always been Germany, even before he was born. And now they can't tell the difference.

But there is a difference! The Germans have had it hard since…since the beginning of time! Germania struggled against Rome and later me and Austria took his place, and we've always fought. We're in the middle of a blood-stained continent, there is death buried in this soil. The Germans broke apart before there was a German name to call the land. England's ancestors tore away to their rich islands, the Scandinavians found wealth to the North, and me and Austria…we stayed. Austria took hold first, and I found my land later. I _fought _for this land. Every inch of it! No speck of my land was ever a gift! Ever inherently mine! As the Teutonic Knights I stole it the same way America tore his home into the Native soil, and as Prussia I wrestled for it with Poland, with Austria, with anyone with half a mind to own some of the most useless, barren soil in all of Europe! And I built my Kingdom! I built my Empire out of _nothing_. Every last speck of dust is MINE!

And now it isn't. Now it's been passed on to a nation that is unwieldy with power, because he has no understanding of it. I was great once. I was invincible.

And the Allies tore me down. And Germany stole what was left.

Germany isn't ready for this. He has done nothing to earn this land. I wonder if I blame myself for that. I was soft on him. This land isn't his. It won't be loyal to him until he finds a way to make them see that he can be great too. I know he can. Of course I do. He's the smartest man I've ever met, stubborn like his brother and steady with a gun. He could be greater than me. He could be greater than all of us.

I want him to be. I want to see him be great. But he's cut off his own hands and now he must find a way to tie the country together without fingers. I cannot help him. I am weak, physically and in nationhood. I have been owned before. I will live. I'm not concerned for myself.

I'm worried what this sudden power will do to my brother.

* * *

><p><em>January 11, 1920<em>

Germany is sick.

He didn't go to work today. I'm not sure if he's calling in sick or if there's just no reason anymore. He stumbled around downstairs for a while, finally just gave up, and collapsed in the living room, where I found him, half-conscious.

He complains of an aching head. He hasn't the energy to get up. He has a fever, and it seems like it's climbing every minute. I couldn't help him upstairs, but I put him in my bed for now. I'm not sure what this is, nor do I know how to fix it. I've tried getting him to eat, but he always refuses. He just wants water, always water. It's like he's dying of thirst.

I haven't seen this before. Nothing this sudden, this crippling. Yes, I've been in bed with a fever, but never this badly. I swear the sweat is boiling off his forehead.

I hope it ends soon.

* * *

><p><em>January 13, 1920<em>

Germany is healthy again. He says the fever must have been something minor, nothing to worry about. I don't tell him a fever that harsh couldn't be caused by anything other than impending doom. He knows that. I think he forgets sometimes that I still know much more than him.

He didn't go to work today. Maybe he isn't feeling as well as he claims. I watched him closely all day, waiting for him to wipe his brow, to shiver, to collapse, but he seems alright. I hope it was just a fluke. Maybe he's still adjusting to his government.

I know I'm wrong, but I want to believe it so much.

* * *

><p><em>January 18, 1920<em>

Germany apologized for not having anything to give me. He mumbled something about money being tight at the office and I waved it away. Ludwig was the one that decided I needed a birthday. I've never really expected much.

Instead, he finally took me into the city. It was amazing to be back. Everything keeps changing, and Germany makes sure the pace keeps up. I smiled and ignored the worry I saw in the faces we passed. I ignored the rising prices posted in the windows. Germany doesn't need me to tell him what's wrong with his country. He knows.

I think about the place Berlin used to be. We pass a courtyard and a flicker of recognition hits. I know this place.

"You broke your arm there." I told him. It's not exactly a happy memory, but it's from a happier time. The place has changed with the years, but I remember it. There are frilled shops ringing it now, and a statue of a man I don't recognize sits in the middle, arms held out to no one, or perhaps all of us. But this is the place. I would remember it if it burned down.

Germany remembers. He says he doesn't remember much about that day, just falling asleep in bed with me that night. I look back through this journal and I realize I wrote something that night. I scribbled down my furious thoughts, ranting at the children that had hurt him. Those pen marks were scrawled in a happier time. Before I settled in to write this, I spent a long time just stroking the letters, wondering at them. I scribbled them down that night, as Ludwig fell asleep against my side. I don't remember it, really, but my words say so much. The way my pen scratches into the paper. I was furious.

I feel like this journal is part of me. A piece of my soul I've snapped off and locked away. Perhaps one day I'll die, but this thing of ink and paper will keep my thoughts alive. And maybe, when Germany is as old as I am, and has seen more wars and years than he would like to admit, long after I've gone, I'm sure, he will find this. Maybe he'll remember his big brother. Maybe he'll look back on me fondly, the way I sometimes remember Fritz. I am immortal, but I know one day I will die. One day the people of the land will forget my name. I will fade away, like Germania did. Or I will shatter, like Rome.

I think back on Germania now. I remember him, but so vaguely. He's become almost amorphous, taking on different traits as I call back different memories. Some days he's kind and warm, others he's distant and cold. I can't seem to find an even middle ground. But always, even in the harshest memories, I remember him fondly. There is the warmth of love there. I loved Germania, once. I don't remember now, was he my father? Or my brother? My grandfather?

I feel bad for not remembering. Will Germany forget, too? Will my face one day simply fade away from his memory? Or will it be slow? Slowly, he will forget the color of my eyes, the tint of my skin, the arch of my nose. Until it's all been buried under memories far more recent. Will he forget me one day?

I fight to remember Germania now. I think...he had blond hair. Blue eyes? That seems right. I try to call a face to mind, something, anything, and something swims forward, a flickering, foggy memory. But it can't be right. The face I see is Germany's, though older, and deeper. Perhaps they looked alike? Germany is my brother after all. Or is my mind just trying to satisfy me? Giving me a picture that brings those same warm feelings to mind.

I'm sure I'll never know.

* * *

><p><em>March 14, 1920<em>

I seem to be continually mourning something I haven't quite lost. Perhaps Ludwig is gone, but Germany is not the lost cause I took him for months ago.

I can walk now. I seem to be getting better, which is a good. The birds have started coming back. They've gotten used to me always out here, they no longer dart away when I move. I take my chair, because I'm not quite strong enough to be without it, even if I can if I must. The stairs continue to be a challenge.

I must accept this change. I've seen worse. But I can't help but feel my best days are behind me. Life will never be quite as good again, and that makes it hard to smile.

But I am German, and I am still Prussian, I will hold my head up proudly and grin, because I won't let anyone know that I am defeated. It doesn't matter if inside I know I will never see my kingdom rise again. If I stare at my reflection and see a failure.

The rest of the world will only see Prussia, and it is my job to make sure he is unaffected by the petty world that changes around him.

* * *

><p><strong>Still no footnotes, but a few notes (skip them if you really don't care):<strong>

**- In my mind, the Congress of Vienna is really when Germany came into nationhood. "Germany" was basically a group of states that considered themselves part of a whole that Prussia took as part of his Empire (after a lot of fighting with Austria and Denmark, who knew if he got ahold of that much land he'd be a real pain). The Congress of Vienna marks the first time those states were tied together as anything besides the Holy Roman Empire. So there. That's your logic.**

**- There were a few weird 'let's try and get along' points between Austria and Prussia, until finally Prussia told Austria he was annoying (Seriously, he was. He was almost constantly lying and breaking promises to Prussia and Prussia was tired of it. So was England. Austria didn't really have a good reputation in Europe.) and formed the North German Federation, which, pretty much by definition, excluded Austria.**

**- I'm so often confused when historians refer to 'Germany' and 'The German Empire' as one in the same. It's really a matter of semantics. In German, 'Germany' (Deutschland) literally means 'Land of the Germans'. (Deutsch, or German, means of the people, so to be honest the name is kind of similar to The United States of America, but I've spent far too much time comparing Germany and America already.), so it makes sense to refer to the whole area of Germans as "Germany".**

**But, really, Germany and 'The Land of the Germans' are two different places in my mind. They just are. 'Germany' is the collection of German states that wanted a sense of nationality and wholeness and 'The Land of the Germans' is the whole bit of Europe that spoke German. See, the German Empire was really to Germany what Britain was to Scotland. They're a part of the whole, a large part, and a growing part, but a **_**part**_**. Prussia really owned the Empire, and while his grip on it was fading by the end (before it was completely shattered), he was still to the German Empire what England is to Britain. Prussia was the one who fought WWI. This is bringing me back to the whole 'Stop calling the German Empire Germany' argument, because it's pretty much the number one reason you never learned about Prussia in history class. You did. You just learned about him under the name "Germany".**

**So why does anyone who ever lived insist Germany fought WWI? Well, because the world apparently has a hard time differentiating Germany from the German Empire. Some people will argue that they are one in the same, but I stand by I said earlier. They are different. And I've spent enough time researching this nonsense to be fairly certain my foot isn't in my mouth (which happens sometimes when I get on a rant. But this is already way, way too long).**

**- The German States that became Germany wanted a sense of unity. The reason they were loyal to Prussia at first was because they wanted to become a nation of their own right (which, in Prussia's defense, he did do). Once Prussia had morphed them into their own little Germany and made them part of the Empire that was, at the time, the strongest in the world (I swear I'm totally not biased probably), they sort of caught on that they were…What's the word…Powerless. Prussia has always had rather fair kings (considering the rest of Europe), but he didn't do the best job at…running an Empire. A lot of things were iffy between the two. Were they different countries, the same country, did Germany answer to Prussia or just the king, did they have the right to their own leadership…? A lot of things were fuzzy and the German states were a little miffed about it, but Prussia was also **_**really**_** good at soothing them just enough to keep them loyal. And they were. Hell, if you're a tiny newborn country in the middle of a very war-oriented continent and one of the strongest armies in the world offers to protect you and let you share in some of that strength, you don't complain a whole hell of a lot. Unless, you know, war breaks out and you start losing. Because then they're dicks and need to go down. Clearly.**

**- The German Revolution was pretty much when Germans under the German Empire (not just Germany, Prussians too, but he was the one who held the reins afterwards) decided that kings are for suckers. For a while, the monarchy of Europe had slowly been changing, switching over to the more democratic end of the spectrum. Yes, there were still kings and queens and the like, but they were fast becoming figureheads (Prime Ministers were the new black). The king of Prussia, Wilhelm (there's like nine Wilhelms, Prussian royalty was never very good at original names. Seriously. There's like four names. In all the monarchy.), was nervous about this, and holding onto his throne. In his defense, he was actually doing a good job. In fact, Prussian royalty has a history of being…good at not being dickwads. Yes, they've had several bad kings, like Fritz's dad, for instance, who was a bit bloodthirsty- Anyway, the story about the miners is true. Bismarck, an elected official of Prussia, and Wilhelm, king of Prussia, didn't agree on how to deal with it. Bismarck suggested force and Wilhelm suggested just, you know, talking to them. Turned out the situation was solved peacefully rather simply. But whatever. Democracy and all that.**

**(okay, usually, I'm all for Democracy, but in the case of the Germans I'm thinking they were better off under monarchy. Just...I don't trust Germans with political decisions. They've proven they suck at it. I'M SORRY. I'M SORRY. BUT IT'S TRUE. DON'T LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT. YOU KNOW IT'S TRUE.)**

**- Yes, the Central Powers tried to offer peace to the Allies. They didn't even ask anything. They were just tired of fighting and kind of wanted to not be fighting (because, to be honest, yeah, they were kind of losing, and for the record **_**no one**_** really got why they were fighting at all, so what the hell, why keep doing it?). The Allies first thought it was a trick (it wasn't) and then demanded the Central Powers pay up. When the Central Powers didn't…ah…respond to that…statement, the Allies took it as a sign of aggression, and continued the war.**

**Funny. I don't remember reading about that in history. Must've been between the part about how the Germans start stupid wars and the Congress of 'Seriously, Guys, How Can We Make This Worse?'**

**-I'm pretty much obligated to mention (because I'm ranting way too much) that when Russia left the war, they were given a treaty by the Germans that demanded some pretty steep shit too. So it goes both ways, but still. I'm going to stand by that the Treaty of Versailles was just shitfucked and I…kind of blame most of the war on England and France. Dipwads.**

**- I think we all know that after WWI, the German economy took a nosedive. There was also the (false) belief that the new government was to blame for the lost war (this is called the 'Backstab Theory' or something of the like, I'm too lazy to look it up. It was one of the root causes behind a certain Austrian's grasp of power), and that really made everything unsteady. Basically, 1920-1940, (roughly) shit was bad. Just…yeah.**

**Wow that is way too long. I'm insane. SEE, THIS IS WHY I SAID NO FOOTNOTES. THAT TOOK LIKE AN HOUR, AND THAT'S WITHOUT FACTCHECKS.**

**Yes, there is more to this, and one day I will get around to finishing it. For now…Just…yeah. Any beef you have with my random historical blathering, take it up in the reviews, because I am tired right now. All I will say is don't use me to write your history papers. Because I'm sure like 50% of that is wrong. I'm too lazy for fact checks right now.**

**WHO KNOWS ALL THIS OFF THE TOP OF THEIR HEAD? WHAT'S WRONG WITH ME?**

**Oh, and sorry for ranting. I just get deprived because…you know…no one I talk to ever cares. Ever. I NEED TO SHARE THIS KNOWLEDGE, GUYS. I…I JUST GOTTA RANT. I'LL DIE.**

**Dear God this AN should be shot. OH AND SORRY FOR CUSSING AT YOU. GOD, I JUST CAN'T HELP IT.**


End file.
